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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740056">Sweden | A Midsummer Night’s Dream</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie'>Drarrelie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Seven Shades of Summer [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bottom Harry Potter, Community: Seven Shades of Drarry, Don't copy to another site, Dream Sex, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Dreamscapes, Fanart Welcome, Fluff, Folklore, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mentions of Myth &amp; Folklore, Midsummer, POV Harry Potter, Pining, Podfic Welcome, Solstice, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Summer Solstice, Swedish Mythology &amp; Folklore, Top Draco Malfoy, Winter Solstice, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:54:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740056</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrelie/pseuds/Drarrelie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With the war finally over, you’d think Harry would finally be granted that “normal life” he’s always dreamt about. Finally free from the Dursleys, from that nose-less megalomaniac, from Horcruxes, Hollows, Death Eaters, Dementors, Prophecies… you’d think that he, for the first time in his life, would be allowed to be just a normal teenager. You’d think he’d deserve that much, right?</p><p>But then you haven’t considered Luna Lovegood. Luna, who has the most whimsical ideas that no one ever takes seriously. Luna, who apparently has Swedish heritage and knows about some strange Summer Solstice ritual that she wants to perform. Luna, who’s so sweet and kind that you can’t help but humour her when she offers you some distraction from your post-war confusion.</p><p>Harry knows he should’ve known better, knows he shouldn’t have let her persuade him to go through with it. But he did.</p><p>And now, Harry’s life will probably never be normal again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Seven Shades of Summer [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Seven Shades of Drarry</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweden | A Midsummer Night’s Dream</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This work is part of the <a href="/series/1788955">Seven Shades of Summer anthology</a>, the second in a series of planned collaborative projects within the <a href="/collections/Seven_Shades_of_Drarry">Seven Shades of Drarry</a> collective.</p><p>The ritual Luna and Harry perform stems from old Swedish folklore. According to tradition, this ritual is to be performed on Midsummer Night and, if done correctly, will make you dream of your future spouse. I haven’t been able to trace down just how old this tradition is, but it’s safe to say that young people all over the country, especially girls, have been performing this ritual more or less seriously for centuries.</p><p>Thank you, my brilliant Shady Ladies, for all that you are and all that you do. This fic wouldn’t have been the same without you 💙</p><p>English is not my native language so please be kind if you find any errors I've missed. That said, I’ll appreciate any feedback you’re willing to give me — kudos, comments and recommendations are my primary life sources.</p><p><span class="u">Disclaimer</span>: All characters belong to — and are reverently borrowed from — JKR and associated publishers.</p><p>There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found <a href="https://spoti.fi/2TEsvGg">here on Spotify</a>; one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection.</p><p>Accompanying song: “A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes/So This is Love” by Sabrina Carpenter</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Hello?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The voice reaches him through the haze, soft and unsure, hopeful.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry can’t see a thing, bar the warm golden glow surrounding him on all sides. He moves closer to the voice, wanting to know who’s there, stranded in this place, alone. Wanting to know if he needs help, or maybe just some company.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Anyone there?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“H-hullo?” Harry calls out belatedly, tentative, careful not to startle whoever’s out there. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Y-you’re…?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The voice quietens and Harry feels lost, untethered without it guiding him to where he knows he’s supposed to be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Keep talking,” he encourages. “I’ll find you. Everything will be alright.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I… I wasn’t expecting company,” the voice says, hesitant. “You’ve never come here before.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, I’m here now,” Harry says. “I’m here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Through the golden haze, he finally discerns the silhouette of the person talking, his astounded features as he breathes, “You are…”</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>Harry can’t say for sure when he dreamt about Malfoy for the first time. Probably, it goes as far back as the night after their very first meeting in Madam Malkin’s. If so, it would only make sense. Malfoy was the first wizard his own age he ever met, after all. It must’ve made some kind of impact.</p><p>Not that it’s important to keep track or anything; Harry’s dreamt about Malfoy countless times after that. Anything else would’ve been strange, wouldn’t it, considering how often they used to interact during his waking hours? And that’s not even counting the nightmares. Sure, the Horcrux-induced visions of Malfoy had been gruesome to experience, but the guilt-ridden nightmares of a paler-than-ever blond lying on a tiled floor in a pool of blood had been so much worse. They’d been haunting him for over a year, waking him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, eyes wet and burning, throat hoarse from screaming in agony behind the safety of the strongest Silencing Charms he knew how to produce at the time.</p><p>Then came the fire. Honestly, Harry has no idea which was worse; the blood or the fire. He only knows how fucking small and useless he felt every time he woke up after another failed attempt to save Malfoy from those raging flames. Sometimes, the pile of rubble Malfoy was perching on crumbled to ash right before his eyes, taking Malfoy with it. Sometimes, their palms were just too sweaty for him to get a firm enough grip on Malfoy’s hand. Worst of all, though, had been the times when he’d managed to haul Malfoy up on his broom, only to feel him slip away as he dived for that damned diadem, watching Malfoy tumble to his death in a sea of flames.</p><p>Yes, it’s safe to say he’s been dreaming of Malfoy for the better part of seven years by now, even if it’s impossible to pinpoint exactly when it started.</p><p>The first time Harry dreamt about <em>Draco</em>, though… It would be etched on his memory forever.</p><p>*</p><p>He’s sorely tempted to blame it all on Luna and her barmy “ritual”. Or the Butterbeer, for making him irrational enough to go along with it. Or Ron and Hermione, for disappearing upstairs to enjoy another bout of post-war passion, once again leaving Harry behind before sundown. He’s not mad at them, nor envious. He’s happy for them — he <em>is</em> — they both deserve some love in their lives after all they’ve been through. It’s just… seeing them together sometimes makes his own loneliness a little harder to swallow.</p><p>Luna had noticed, of course — perceptive as she is — observing him with a contemplative look on her face. She and her father had been invited over to the Burrow for the traditional Summer Solstice dinner that night, and while Xenophilius had returned home once the bonfire had started to die down, Luna had stayed behind. She’d been offered a bed in Ginny’s room for the night, and when everyone else had drifted off upstairs, Harry had been grateful for her presence next to him on the porch.</p><p>She’d asked him about Ginny and he’d told her the truth; that he didn’t know. That being around her felt strange and weird somehow, and not at all as it had done a year earlier. He’d admitted his longing for having what Ron and Hermione had found in each other, and she’d frowned sympathetically before proposing he’d join her for some old Summer Solstice tradition passed down to her from her distant Swedish ancestry. As soon as she’d explained how it supposedly worked, Harry had known it was all utter nonsense. But he’d humoured her anyway, mostly because he’d felt restless and in dire need of a distraction.</p><p>So he’d come with her, obligingly following all instructions along the way. They were to pick seven different wildflowers in seven different meadows, and for some reason, it was very important they did it in total silence. They had walked side by side in the dewy grass under a starry sky, guided by moonlight and accompanied by countless crickets and the occasional hooting owl. It had been a rather nice and soothing experience, Harry must concede, and once they’d returned to the Burrow, he hadn’t had any trouble performing the last part of the ritual, which was placing the freshly picked flowers under his pillow and going to sleep.</p><p>According to Luna, this would miraculously make him dream of his soulmate. And, of course, that’s not what happened. He’d never expected it would. But if he’d known what <em>would </em>happen, he definitely wouldn’t have gone through with the bloody thing. He guesses he should’ve known better than to trust Luna on any of her eccentric ideas, but he didn’t, and now he’s stuck in this fucked up situation for what, with his luck, would probably turn out to be the rest of his life.</p><p>*</p><p>After three weeks of dreaming about his former school nemesis, Harry had been on the verge of a mental breakdown. Not only because any encounter between them had always been an unnerving experience, but also because this weird dream version of the bloke was nothing like the proud, conceited prat Harry knew. Surely, real-life Malfoy wasn’t capable of emotions like regret, remorse, or humility, and yet — for some inexplicable reason — Harry’s subconscious had created this distorted imitation of his adversary. Appearance-wise, it was a perfect replica as far as Harry could tell, yet personality-wise it was so far from its original that Harry soon felt the need to refer to him as Draco, just to remind himself that the agreeable blond of his dreams had absolutely nothing to do with the real, arrogant Malfoy heir.</p><p>He knew it was just his subconscious messing with him, but it wasn’t until he finally got up his nerve to consult Hermione about it that he realised why. He’d told her about the dreams, about meeting this strange Draco for several nights in a row, and asked her for some advice on the matter. Her theory, once she offered it, had been so obvious Harry had no idea why the thought hadn’t struck him before. <em>Of course</em>, it was just a coping mechanism, a way to process and handle all the stress and trauma from the war. His subconscious had created a conversational partner for him to confide in, to rehash all his frustration and anger with, to talk through his angst and grief with. Harry had no idea why this partner had turned up in the form of his old rival — Hermione thought it might be because Harry would surely hesitate to lash out his less amicable feelings to anyone he actually cared about — but after that chat, he didn’t question his dreams anymore.</p><p>Hermione had advised him to seize the opportunity, to give talking to Draco a fair chance. What harm could it possibly do? Whatever transpired between them during those dreams, it was only happening inside his head, right?</p><p>Right.</p><p>So for the remainder of the summer, Harry let himself get accustomed to the laid-back routine of socialising with his friends at the Burrow during the daytime and conversing with Draco every night in his dreams. And once he’d gotten used to the thought of sharing his innermost hopes, fears, and desires with someone who looked so like his enemy it still had a tendency to startle him, he even began to look forward to falling asleep at night. For all the distress talking about the last few years brought him, he recognised how much lighter it made him feel afterwards, how much easier it became to go through the day without falling apart from all the memories and grief and sorrow the war had thrown upon him. And as much as he trusted Ron and Hermione — or any of the others for that matter — it felt good to not have to burden them with all this. They had enough to cope with on their own without him adding to their troubles.</p><p>And even if Draco was only a figment of his imagination, Harry let him talk out his troubling thoughts, too. With all the gruesome visions Harry had seen through Voldemort’s eyes, it came as no surprise that Harry’s subconscious had no problem weaving together a plausible picture of Draco’s experiences throughout the war. There were mornings following some of those sessions when Harry had woken up with his heart aching for the boy who never had much choice but to find himself in the centre of the Death Eater movement, living under the same roof as the darkest wizard of their time and in constant fear of being the next victim of his irrational ire.</p><p>Harry knew it was just his mind trying to comprehend Malfoy’s appalling behaviour through the years, and that Malfoy’s reality certainly wasn’t anything like what Draco told him during those nightly sessions. But once the time came for them all to go back to Hogwarts for another chance at their N.E.W.T.s year, Harry would even say Draco had become a close friend. Not out loud, of course, but still.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>“You avoided me today,” Draco says. “Why?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry looks up to find his friend watching him closely. The nondescript lighting in this blurred dreamscape always makes Draco’s hair glow intriguingly, but tonight, all Harry can see is the pained expression burning in those bright silvery eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“‘Why?’” Harry repeats, swallowing down the irrational guilt over being the one to make his imaginary friend suffer. “Because I already see you every night, which is more than enough, if you ask me.” Draco scowls and Harry winks. He’s only teasing and Draco knows it; he knows how much these encounters have come to mean to Harry. “I can’t even imagine having to socialise with you during the daytime, too.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, fuck off,” Draco scoffs, feigning indignation despite the amused twitch at the corners of his mouth. Harry laughs and bumps shoulders with him, sending Draco off-kilter for a moment before he regains his balance and returns the gesture with a mischievous grin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Truth is, if it had been an option, Harry would’ve gladly hung out with Draco during his waking hours as well. Too bad Draco’s not real, and that real-life Malfoy is nothing like him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Except physically.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry had almost hoped this dream version had been an exaggeration when it came to his good looks, whatever it may have implied in regards to his (lately, rather dithering) sexuality. However, a quick glimpse of Malfoy across the Great Hall during the Welcoming Feast earlier this evening was all it took to blow that theory to smithereens. Malfoy is every bit as attractive as Draco, and how Harry has managed not to notice it before, especially with all those years of obsessively studying him, is downright baffling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All right, if that’s what you want,” Draco says once the peace is restored and they’re resettled against the wall, “Friends by night, enemies by day.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco’s faint smile is not enough to hide his disappointment, and Harry tentatively lays his hand in Draco’s, entwining their fingers together.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re not my enemy,” he says softly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m not?” Draco turns his head to look at him fully, and Harry feels compelled to do the same. Draco is so close; so close Harry can feel his citrusy scent teasing his nostrils, his warm breath caressing his skin, and his heated gaze searching his soul.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, you’re not,” Harry smiles, giving in to his impulse, reaching out to cup Draco’s cheek with his free hand. Draco’s eyes widen at the touch, and he seems to hold his breath.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he’s not drawing back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Emboldened, Harry closes the gap between them and whispers against Draco’s lips, “In fact…”</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>That morning, Harry wakes up with a racing heart and a raging hard-on, panting breathlessly as he stares up into the canopy of his familiar Gryffindor tower four-poster.</p><p>He’s so confused, unable to fathom what dreaming about kissing his imaginary friend — his friend who looks like his old nemesis — could possibly mean. He’s never even contemplated wanting to kiss a boy before; and yet, at least in the dream, he’d liked it enough for the experience to outrival any and all real-life experiences he’s had with girls in the past.</p><p>Head swimming, he lies there motionless, waiting for his dorm-mates to wake up, waiting for their first day of classes to start. When Ron finally stirs in the next bed over, he’s managed to come to two conclusions. One, apparently his subconscious has found its creative coping strategy successful enough with handling the war traumas that it’s decided to let Harry use the same nightly partner to explore his yet undefined sexuality as well. And two, he can’t tell anyone about this, or everyone would think him barking mad.</p><p><em>It’s only dreams</em>, Harry comforts himself on his way downstairs for breakfast. <em>Crazy, irrational dreams, true, but still only dreams.</em></p><p>The calming mantra doesn’t help much, though, once he spots Malfoy sitting at the Slytherin table, deep in thought. He looks so much like Draco, Harry can’t help the heat pooling in his gut when the sight of the blond brings back the memories of his latest dream with a vengeance. Malfoy must feel Harry watching him, for he suddenly turns and locks eyes with Harry. A flicker of pain ghosts over his features, brief enough for Harry to realise he might’ve just imagined it, and then it’s gone, replaced by Malfoy’s patented scowl.</p><p><em>Thank Merlin</em>, Harry sighs. Malfoy being his old despicable self — infuriating as he might be — will hopefully make it a little easier to set him apart from his dreamscape look-alike.</p><p>As the day goes on, Malfoy doesn’t fail to live up to Harry’s expectations and before the first week is over, Harry’s able to check off both glares and sneers, several creative muttered insults, and even an uncalled-for shoulder-shoving on his list of Malfoy interactions.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Harry gasps as Draco’s searching hands find their way under Harry’s shirt, running hot up Harry’s spine, clutching him closer in a bout of desperate want. As Harry’s head falls back, Draco’s mouth latches on to his throat, tasting, nibbling, sucking, licking, making Harry groan with pleasure.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fuck,” he breathes as Draco grabs his arse cheeks and presses closer, thrusting his hardness against Harry’s thigh, making Harry dizzy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Harry,” Draco moans as he comes, panting, sending Harry over the edge at the mere mention of his name from those kiss-swollen lips.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>“Why so glum, Potter?” Malfoy sneers across the corridor as they wait for the Charms lesson to begin. “Didn’t get enough fan mail this morning?”</p><p>This day is difficult enough to handle without Malfoy taunting him. Harry fears just one more spiteful word from that gorgeous mouth would be enough to set off the tears already pooling in his eyes. Willing his grief to transform into anger, he pins Malfoy with a scathing look.</p><p>“Enough, all right?” he spits. “Enough. Just drop it, Malfoy, or…”</p><p>Malfoy smirks as Harry goes silent, arching a haughty brow. “Or?”</p><p>“Just… don’t,” Harry says. He’s on the verge of breaking and it’s impossible to hold back the silent pleading in his eyes.</p><p>Malfoy frowns but never gets a chance to voice his next insult before Professor Flitwick opens the door to his classroom and ushers everyone inside.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>“You’re down today,” Draco says later that night. He’s lying next to Harry, propping himself up on his elbow and carding slender fingers through Harry’s unruly locks. “Care to tell me what’s wrong?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry looks up at him, taking in the concerned frown on his face. “You know what’s wrong, Draco. I’ve told you why Halloween is so—”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Your parents,” Draco breathes, eyes widening. “Oh, Salazar, I completely forgot.” He leans down and kisses Harry softly, tenderly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against Harry’s lips. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His lips are warm and dry, his tongue hot and wet, his breath sweet and minty.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs between kisses, moving to hover over him, kneeling between Harry’s thighs and brushing their already half-hard cocks against each other. “Let me comfort you, Harry. Let me make you feel good.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry acquiesces, looking up into the warm golden haze as Draco’s lips and tongue and hands travel down Harry’s chest, pausing to acknowledge nipples and abs and navel and hip bones. Harry arches off the cushioned ground, panting under Draco’s affectionate ministrations, whimpering as Draco’s fingertips brush featherlight over Harry’s straining erection.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco’s mouth is hot and wet and glorious as it envelops Harry’s leaking head, as Draco licks his slit and sucks him in deeply. Harry had no idea anything like this could feel so fucking good and is fairly certain it never would in real life. But here, in their secret dreamscape, Harry is allowed to feel it, to relish it, to revel in it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, Draco,” he moans. “Fuck, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco takes him even deeper, swallowing around his head as Harry comes, hard, and lets out a raw feral sound he wasn’t aware he could produce.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As Draco’s lips return to Harry’s, his kisses taste strange, erotic, delicious.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>Oddly enough, it seems Malfoy actually listened to him when Harry told him to back off on Halloween. Gone are the snide remarks and the petty insults, gone are the sneers and scowls, the “accidental” shoves and bumps. In their place are silence and furtive glances, lowered gazes and careful avoidance.</p><p>And even if Malfoy doesn’t approach him anymore, Harry notices his irritation, his frustration, and his impatience from afar. To be honest, Harry can’t stop noticing everything about him, can’t take his eyes off of him. Whenever he catches sight of Malfoy’s platinum-blond hair, Harry can’t resist being reminded of Draco, of his delectable mouth, his glorious hands and gorgeous perfect porcelain skin.</p><p>It’s all so fucked up.</p><p>Ever since the very first time they met, Malfoy’s always been the focal point of all his rage and loathing, and now Harry’s falling in love with his identical twin — his <em>nonexistent</em> identical twin — and there’s seemingly nothing he can do to prevent it. For all the toxic history between them, Harry can’t stop looking at his former school nemesis, can’t stop devouring his sharp angles, his expressive eyebrows, and his every graceful gesture. And where the sight of Malfoy once made Harry’s insides flare hot with annoyance, the heat burning within him now is something quite different.</p><p>Every day it gets harder to remember they’re not one and the same, that Malfoy is nothing like Draco. That his heart belongs to an illusory dream and not to the real man sitting at the desk two rows in front of him taking down notes of whatever Professor McGonagall is teaching. Harry has no idea what she’s talking about; it’s impossible to concentrate on her lecture as long as Malfoy’s in the same room. Hopefully, Hermione won’t mind filling him in on the subject later when they’re back in the safety of the Gryffindor common room.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>“Please, Draco. Please…,” Harry whines, writhing under Draco’s hands, lifting his hips to meet long slick fingers as they penetrate him over and over again, brushing over his prostate and eliciting the most embarrassing sounds from his lips.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As Harry lifts his head to look down at Draco, dark lust-filled eyes meet his. Those usually so pale cheeks are flushed with desire, those thin, rosy lips plump and shiny from pre-come and saliva, and when Harry glimpses that perfect row of white teeth as they bite down on Draco’s bottom lip, he whimpers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What do you want?” Draco asks, his voice low and husky as he continues to fuck Harry much too slowly with his skilful fingers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“More,” Harry groans, “I want more. I want…” Another twist of his fingers makes Harry see stars, causing him to mewl. “I want you inside me… I want you inside me when we come.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco gasps, moving his free hand from Harry’s hip to press down on his own raging erection.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fuck, Harry,” he growls as he extracts his fingers from Harry’s tight, greedy heat. Harry feels lost and empty without them, like something vital is missing from his body, something he needs to survive, something only Draco can provide. Draco comes up to lean over him, capturing Harry’s mouth in a scorching kiss. “Are you sure?” he asks, searching Harry’s eyes carefully. “We’ve never done this before…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, Draco,” Harry says, hoping Draco can detect the trust and reassurance he’s projecting into those blazing silvery eyes. “I want this. I want you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, Harry,” Draco murmurs after another fervent kiss, “you have me. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His eyes are shining as he withdraws, looking down to guide his silky-smooth hardness to Harry’s hot pulsing hole. Harry tries to relax as Draco pushes past his rim, but it’s hard to do and it burns, and Harry forces himself to breathe, to let Draco in, to focus on the sensation of Draco sliding into him, filling him, making him whole.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The burning abates as Draco waits — with more patience than Harry ever thought the man capable of — and Harry urges him to move. And he does. And it feels strange, naughty, and absolutely spectacular.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>“I have an announcement to make,” Headmistress McGonagall says, looking out over the sea of students, all turning their heads to face her. Harry thinks Malfoy looks even more stunning in profile. “In the spirit of this peaceful new era, we’ve decided to instate a new Hogwarts tradition. In three weeks, on the evening of the Winter Solstice, we’ll celebrate the first annual Hogwarts Yule Ball.”</p><p>The Great Hall erupts in a burst of squeals and chatter, and Harry can feel several pairs of longing eyes turn to look at him. Malfoy keeps his face impassive, though, his gaze never wavering from the spot where McGonagall stands, no matter how much Harry wants him to. <em>Just one glance</em>, Harry pleads. <em>Why won’t you ever look at me anymore?</em></p><p>“The event will be open to all students from fourth year and above,” McGonagall continues, ignoring the disgruntled murmurs from the younger years as she goes on talking about the practicalities Hermione will be able to relate later. Malfoy swallows, and Harry’s mouth goes dry as he watches his Adam’s apple move along his slender neck.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>“Do you plan on going to the Yule Ball?” Draco asks some days later when they’re cuddling together, surrounded by the soft golden haze.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry struggles to make his brain return to normal, not an easy feat to accomplish after just finding out the wonders of a thorough rimming. He lies with his head on Draco’s shoulder, his knee draped over Draco’s thighs, watching Draco’s flawless skin shiver under the light strokes of Harry’s fingertips moving aimlessly back and forth over his chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Draco shifts to place a gentle kiss on Harry’s forehead, the touch of his lips reminding Harry of his still unanswered question.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know,” Harry says truthfully. “I don’t have a date, and I don’t want to go alone.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I was thinking…,” Draco muses, sliding his hand along Harry’s arm, “well, hoping, really… that you might consider going with me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry blinks, swallows, lifts his head to look into Draco’s beautiful, silver-grey eyes. He knows this isn’t real, that Draco isn’t real, and he knows it’s all impossible. He doesn’t care. He wants to at least be able to pretend it could be real, if only for a few hours here in their peaceful dreamscape. He wants to know how it feels to be loved, to be cherished, to be asked to a Yule Ball by the man he loves. He doesn’t care if it’s all just a dream.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes,” he says, ignoring his rapidly beating heart, the lump in his throat, the warmth spreading through his veins. “Yes, Draco, I want to go to the Yule Ball with you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The radiant smile spreading over Draco’s face is the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>“It feels strange,” Hermione muses, out-of-the-blue, about a week later, “good strange, of course, but still… strange.”</p><p>“What does?” Ron inquires, frowning.</p><p>They’ve been sitting in the library studying — well, Hermione and Ron have, at least. Harry’s been too distracted by how Malfoy’s bottom lip has been abused by perfect white teeth while the man has been concentrating on whatever he’s been reading for the last hour and a half — and this is the first anyone of them has spoken in several minutes. As far as Harry knows. He doesn’t always pay attention these days, or so he’s been told. Several times.</p><p>Tearing his eyes away from the blond, Harry looks over to his friends, waiting for Hermione to elaborate.</p><p>“That we’re only a few days from completing an entire term at this school without any strange or horrible things happening to any one of us,” she says, smiling. “I don’t think we’ve ever experienced that before.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re right.” Ron grins. “Surely, nothing weird will pop up out of nowhere now, with only one more week of classes to go.”</p><p>Harry swallows. He hasn’t mentioned the dreams since that one single time in the middle of summer, and he’s not going to tell them now. <em>Let them think everything is fine and dandy.</em> Just because I’m not allowed a normal life, doesn’t mean they’re not.</p><p>“That reminds me,” Hermione says, turning to Harry with a concerned look on her face, “have you found yourself a date to the Yule Ball yet?”</p><p>A few yards away, Malfoy stiffens in his seat. Harry can’t help noticing it. Even if his gaze is on Hermione, his peripheral vision registers it, as always.</p><p>“I… No,” Harry stammers, feeling a blush spreading up his neck. “I don’t think I’m going to go…”</p><p>“Whyever not?” Hermione frowns. “Of course you should go. And there’s still time to find a date for you, Harry. In fact, one of the Ravenclaws in my Arithmancy class just told me she was still looking for someone to go with. She’s really sweet and very pretty. I can introduce you, if you want?”</p><p>“Whatever…” Harry shrugs noncommittally. He still doesn’t want to go, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint his friends. And they’ve been pestering him about this bloody Yule Ball for ages. Maybe if he yields, they’ll let it go.</p><p>A flurry of Slytherin robes and white-blond hair catches his attention and when he looks Malfoy’s way, the man is already standing right next to him, scowling, glaring down at him over his straight nose. It’s the first time Malfoy’s stormy grey eyes have met Harry’s since Halloween, and the intensity blazing in them causes a shiver to run down Harry’s spine.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. He’s hot even when he’s thunderous.</em>
</p><p>“Damn you, Harry,” he spits. “You already have a date.”</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What the…</em>
</p><p>Harry gapes, stunned, unable to grasp Malfoy’s words before the man is nothing but a retreating back, stomping footfalls, and billowing robes.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, fucking fuck…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>WHAT?!</em>
</p><p>“What the bloody hell was that all about?” Ron exclaims, bewildered.</p><p>“Harry,” Hermione says slowly, “did he just call you ‘Harry’?”</p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>“I— I have to…,” Harry blurts, already on his feet. He has no idea what he’s going to do, just that he <em>has</em> to do it. “I got to…”</p><p>And then he’s running, chasing after Malfoy — <em>Draco</em> — through corridors, down stairs, past students of all ages who scurry out of his way to avoid getting hit by the desperate Boy Who Lived.</p><p>“Malfoy!” he calls as soon as he catches a glimpse of platinum-blond hair turning around the corner towards the dungeons. “Draco!”</p><p>When Harry turns the corner, he stops in his tracks, panting heavily. Malfoy has stopped, but not turned around, some ten yards away, waiting. Waiting for him.</p><p>“Draco?” Harry says softly, trying to catch his breath. “Is it… Are you… It’s <em>real</em>?”</p><p>Hesitantly, Draco turns to look at him. He’s frowning, unbelieving. “You didn’t know?”</p><p>Harry shakes his head. “No. I had no idea. I thought it was just… me… my dreams…”</p><p>“Well, it’s real,” Draco says carefully, his face suddenly impassive.</p><p>“But…” Harry scrambles for purchase, trying to wrap his head around what Draco’s saying. “But you were so mean? You…”</p><p>“Because you asked me to be,” Draco says. “You said you didn’t want us being friends during our waking hours.”</p><p>“But… I…”</p><p>“Harry…” Draco sighs, carding a hand through his hair. “When you came to me that night, I… I’ve been doing that ritual every year for a decade, just waiting for a chance to catch a glimpse of my soulmate. Never in my life did I think—”</p><p>“Your…? Oh, Merlin.”</p><p>And then Harry’s walking, shaky legs barely holding him up as he approaches Malfoy, no Draco — his <em>soulmate</em> — dizzy from the realisation that this is… <em>real</em>… That Draco is actually… <em>real</em>…</p><p>Draco’s lips taste just as sweet and lovely as they always do, his hands feel as warm on Harry’s back, and his silky locks as smooth between Harry’s fingers. His fresh, lemony scent is heady, his tongue is hot, and his whimpers delicious. It feels too good to be true, too good to be real, and Harry has to draw back from their kiss to look at him, to make sure Draco’s really there, in his arms.</p><p>His heart gets stuck in his throat as he notices the golden haze surrounding them, for a fleeting second thrown by the implication that this might not be real after all, that they’re back in the bloody dreamscape. But then the obscured outlines of the corridor catch his eye beyond the haze and he knows they’re still there, still in Hogwarts, still awake.</p><p>The haze brightens as they look around, seeming to contract, growing smaller, growing denser, ever brighter. They simultaneously take one step apart as they realise the core of the haze, the centre of the golden light, hovers in the space between them, between their chests, between their hearts. Without questioning it, Harry yields to the urge to wrap his fingers around Draco’s wrists, left around left, right around right, revelling in the sensation of Draco’s hands curling around his wrists as they cross their arms under the golden sphere suspended in the air between them.</p><p>They both watch in awe as the sphere lowers to sink into their joined hands, warm, reassuring light spreading through arms and shoulders and torsos and legs, filling up every inch of their bodies and leaving them both breathless. When the feeling subsides, Harry finds himself unable to take his eyes off the thin golden threads of light encircling their wrists.</p><p>*</p><p>Harry is aware of all the curious eyes following them as Draco leads him effortlessly through yet another slow, swaying circle across the dance floor. He doesn’t see them, though; he only has eyes for Draco, <em>his</em> Draco, the gorgeous man who smiles fondly down at him before hugging him a little closer with a gentle press at the small of Harry’s back.</p><p>Some of the enchanted snowflakes falling from the ceiling have caught in Draco’s hair, making it glitter like frost under the sun. His cheeks are slightly flushed, the rosy hue making him look more alive and healthy than he’s done in several years. There’s affection dancing in his warm grey eyes and an amused little smile playing on his pink lips.</p><p>“What took you so long?” he asks, steering them confidently into another dizzying turn without ever taking his eyes from Harry’s.</p><p>Harry blushes and offers his man a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t find my tie.”</p><p>“Ahh,” Draco says. “I almost thought you wouldn’t show up.”</p><p>“Well, I’m here now,” Harry says, remembering the first time he’d said those words to the man now swaying in his arms. “I’m here.”</p><p>Draco’s smile widens, taking over his features, making his eyes crinkle in the corners. Evidently, he remembers it, too.</p><p>“You are,” he murmurs, placing a featherlight kiss on Harry’s lips. “You are…”</p><p>*</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love and cherish any and all feedback you’re willing to give me — kudos, comments and recommendations are my primary life sources.</p><p>For more interaction, please find me on <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/drarrelie">Tumblr</a></p><p>This work is part of the <a href="/series/1788955">Seven Shades of Summer anthology</a>, a series of Drarry fics exploring Summer Solstice traditions from different parts of Europe.</p><p>There’s also a playlist created for this anthology that can be found <a href="https://spoti.fi/2TEsvGg">here on Spotify</a>; one song for each of the seven fics included in the collection.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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